Daughter of Necessity
by Maevenly
Summary: Harry's the one to defeat Voldemort. He's just not going to do it alone. Necessity has charged Hermione and her Affinity with the duty to make sure he can succeed.Lots of disregard for select subplots in books 6&7. HP/HG,HG/DM,PP,BZ,TN,RW,SS,MMcG,LM,JFF
1. Chapter 1

_**June 17th, 1996 - End of Year 5**_

_**Derbyshire, England**_

Three overprotective wizards faced-off against a pair of justifiably indignant parents. The battle ground, for a lack of a better word, was the drawing room of an estate that mirrored Malfoy Manor with its seventeen-century architecture, impeccable upkeep, finely appointed over-sized rooms, and extensive complementary grounds without delving into ostentatiousness or whimsy.

The creation of an unregistered Portkey posed less of a risk then actually materializing in the girl's familial Derbyshire home. Anxiety nipped at their attempts at diplomacy; every moment they spent with the Muggles was another moment they could be discovered.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

Severus Snape had all he could do not to repeat Draco Malfoy's demand for an explanation from the two people he, Draco, and Justin Finch-Fletchley – the most unlikely trio of emissaries – now held accountable for the unaccountable whereabouts of the one person all five of them had a vested interest in locating.

"I did what I had to do, that's what I did! She's MY daughter! She's been LYING to us – come to find out – for YEARS!" The cords along the sides of the man's neck stretched tautly with every word; the belief in his daughter's betrayal ripped across the room and ricocheted off of the ornately-framed portraits and heirloom still-lifes.

"She HAD too! YOU didn't give her a choice!" Draco's hands spread wide, invoking the price she, the woman he'd promised – as well as been promised to protect since his inception – to protect, paid. "Do you REALLY THINK she-"

"DRACO!" Severus snapped at the young man, an attempt to curtail the blame-slinging. To the two people standing opposite them, he struggled to speak reasonably. "What is important is ascertaining what happened – so that we can find her."

They, though, weren't ready to be reasonable. If anything, they became even more antagonistic.

"Our only daughter, who we thought was safe – at a boarding school in Gstaad – comes home, with a newly healed scar the size of the Highlands on her body? Of course we're going to demand answers!" Hands unable to stay still, a mannerism they'd witnessed her daughter emulate, the woman gestured to the three wizards. "And what are you all doing here? What right do you have coming here, interfering with-"

"ENOUGH!" Severus shouted, his patience challenged with the need to find the girl; to see with his own eyes that she was safe and secure. Once more, he forced himself to speak in, albeit modulated, even tones. "This isn't accomplishing anything!"

He drew in a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he looked pointedly at Draco and Justin, making sure they keep their mouths shut – for the time being. He attempted to invoke a modicum of trust by admitting the reason for their visit. "We are here because none of us can locate her."

Severus wished he had a different disposition, one that would allow him to let the man vent, wear himself out, and then deal with the matter at hand. He didn't. Time was of the essence and his concern for the girl was equal to that of the parents who stared at him as if he was the second-coming of the devil.

"Whatever explanations you two believe you're entitled too aren't going to happen today." He gritted against the instinct to sneer. "Not until the girl is found and we all can discuss this together."

"That's rich!"

"Be that as it may, madam…" He all but growled at her insinuation of a double-standard. "We can't find the girl unless you tell us what transpired."

"You are not the only ones with means! With one phone call, I've mobilize the entire Airborne Rescue Detail. Every hotel, hospital, police station and Tube-attendant from here to Iceland has her name, description, and my contact information. The borders are closed so tight-"

"We know who you are, Sir. You and my father attended Eton together. Your seats in the House of Lords are side by side." The effort it took for the 'Puff to speak calmly and evenly was evident in the way he clenched his hands. His knuckles were white and his forearms rigid as the dark-haired boy acknowledged the station, and with whom the parents were connected with, of the parents of the young woman he loved like a sister. The same young woman who was sworn to protect them all, both of her own volition and her inception. "We're – there are others than just us – bound to her; we refer to ourselves as The Affinity. We just want to – no, _need_ – to find her, Sir."

Draco, somewhat mollified by Justin's acknowledgement of his – and the others who shared in her Affinity – place in her life, found the means to speak clearly and without pointing the proverbial finger.

"What happened here will determine which direction we look for her. Each of our relationships with her are different; her state of mind would give us a clue as to whom she'd be most likely to go to."

"She's OUR daughter! You can't take her from us!" The woman's true fear echoed her every word.

An unspoken unkind rejoinder radiated from each of the wizards: _we can't take what isn't here_.

"She's not just yours."

Severus was surprised at how softly he spoke. Then again, the truth often doesn't need embellishment.

"She hasn't been since the day she was born, nigh, the moment she was _conceived_. You _know_ that. These boys' fathers, myself, and two others, sat in this very room almost six years ago and acknowledged what was to be expected from all of us. And yet, you tried to circumvent Fate." A hint of exasperation escaped despite is his best attempt otherwise. "What did you expect to happen when Necessity has deemed otherwise? Now, because of what has transpired here, we are – _un-necessarily_ – on the cusp of exposure! There are those among us," Snape made sure they knew he referred to wizard-kind, "who, if they knew, no, suspected the possibility…" The man and woman stood to lose a child. The rest of them, least of all her, stood to lose so much more. "They would take her from us under the auspices of 'the greater good'!"

Tears stood in both the parents' eyes. Only the man's fell down his face.

"Do you know what it's like, to have to give up your daughter, your flesh-and-blood, the one being in the whole universe, " he glanced at his wife, to make sure she knew that she was included in his declaration of protection despite his choice in pronoun, "you'd not only kill to save, but die to protect?" He cupped his hands together, re-enacting the moment when he first held his newly born daughter. "To hold a new life in your hands, and know that the baby cradled in your arms has the power to re-set the pillars of your _soul_?" Resentfulness replaced the awe of being a new parent. "Only to be told, after you raise her, heal her, nurture her, read to her, encourage her, build her up from a blank canvas to a complex work of art, all because of the love you feel for her and desire to see her become everything you know she can be, only to be told that she can't be yours any more? That you only get her three months out of the year? That when you do see her, it's a heart-wrenching struggle to reconnect to the very life you identify as your own, to reconcile the child you leave on a train platform with the teenager that steps off that very same train nearly a year later?" He didn't bother to clear the wetness from his face. "That's been OUR life! Don't preach to me about sacrifice! I KNOW the meaning of that word, good sir! My wife and I live with that definition every minute of every day!

"My daughter came home with cuts and bruises and nightmares – night _terrors_! - from some quest for some stone."

"And then, the next year, we receive notice by letter – a letter!" He glared at the dark-haired youth, the spitting image of a man he perceived a brother as well as a fellow father denied his parental rights by a society who perceived his, his wife's and his daughter's 'kind' the lowliest form of life. "Which informed us _after-the-fact_ that our daughter spent months – MONTHS! – petrified! Petrified!" He arched an eyebrow at the defacto representative of the very school that failed to protect his daughter. "How do we even comprehend that? My best friend's son, also petrified? Our little girl, the same girl we taught to ice skate, ride a bike, enjoy pancakes, trace her letters, and stood on my feet as we danced father-daughter dances on Sunday afternoons just because we could, was petrified! You tell me that! I AM HER _FATHER_! THIS WOMAN IS HER _MOTHER_! SHE IS OUR _CHILD_! What else could we do but forbid her to return!" He let go of his wife and swung a pointed finger at the three wizards. "And now we find out that not only has she defied us, but YOU ALL HELPED HER DO IT!"

Severus had no counter argument. There was nothing he could say that would exonerate the Affinity or Hogwarts from their collective failings. The level of emotional pain in the room blurred the edges of his vision and caused them to all pause for a moment. The mental images the man invoked of an idyllic childhood corrupted preyed on all of their souls. What was being asked of them, all of them, and yes, some more than others, was…trying. If this was the fallout, Severus could only imagine the magnitude of the initial confrontation between the girl and her parents.

The stately grandfather clock ticked away the minutes as heated words seeped down into the heirloom Aubusson carpet that blanketed the receiving room.

It was the woman who recovered her composure first. She dashed her tears from her cheeks and drew her hand underneath her nose as she sniffled. It was Justin who extended the woman his handkerchief. She accepted the square of monogrammed cloth from the sixteen year old boy with a quiet murmur of thanks. Her husband reached for her and wrapped a strong arm around her trembling shoulders.

With all the poise he learned from his mother and an aire of diplomacy reminiscent of Lucius, and blended with wherewithal to know when honesty would achieve a more desirable outcome than the application of the subtle manipulation of charm, Draco stepped towards them.

"She didn't choose us over you. She couldn't." The boy felt compelled to tell them that they weren't the only ones who suffered over the past five years. He spoke with first-hand knowledge for the one who wasn't there to speak for herself. "It tore her up. She pushed herself to the breaking point so that she wouldn't have to. Last year, we were there," he gestured to Justin, even though it was clear that he referred to others, "saw first-hand, when she-"

"Don't, Draco." Severus knew of what Draco was referring to and stopped his godson from saying any more about what happened that day. It was an awful moment that he himself had contributed, that nearly shattered the mind and soul of a young girl he'd sworn to protect. It took five of them, in addition to himself, to bring the girl back from the brink of utter surrender. The sobs that girl cried out, that moment of true darkness she experienced, was akin to one of his most desperate hours. It bound them, him to her, her to him, in a way that transcended the Affinity, teacher-to-student, or even guardian-to-ward. The events of that night were too…sacred…to be repeated to anyone who hadn't been in that room that night.

"She wouldn't have if you all just left her alone!" The mother wrapped her arms around her middle, her internal pain manifesting physically. Her nearly-whispered ragged plea encompassed the past one-hundred-forty-five months. "Why couldn't you just let us be?"

"Because it wasn't up to us." Severus found the calm within himself to reach out to the afflicted parents without blame, rancor or hollow platitudes. "She wouldn't let us go. You raised her so well… Her values, her definition of responsibility, her sense of duty, honor and capacity to… love-"

"And forgive." Draco added his own contribution to his litany.

Severus was a hard man, a difficult man, a man who lived a triple-faceted life, and yet, with these people, because of her, he exuded a certain kind of empathy he only reserved for a select few. There were those within the Affinity that he didn't regard with the same level of…deference…that he extended to the distraught parents.

"It's not your fault that she's such an extraordinary young woman; one who lives, loves, and, yes, exists, far above and outside her years."

Justin stepped forward until he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Draco. "Please, let us do what we're meant to do. Professor Snape, Malfoy and myself - we can find her. I promise that we can. We just need to know what happened so that we know where to start looking for her."

The two parents looked at each other. It was the man who turned on his heel. He embraced his wife, pressed a kiss to her temple, and apologized to her, not to the three wizards. "I can't. I can't stay here, with them. I can't…"

She nodded, understanding her husband's need to escape the turmoil. He'd already revealed so much, to make him stay would undo him. "Go on. I'll see you after they leave."

Good manners and homage to the daughter he sired dictated Severus, Draco and Justin nod at the man as he made to leave the room. It was a testament to the daughter he helped raise that he turned around and retook his place at his wife's side.

"It happened eight days ago. We haven't left the house since." She gestured to the Queen Anne furniture, indicating that they should all sit. She herself remained standing, as did her husband. The wizards remained on their feet as well, the two younger men took their cues from him and mimicked his slightly more relaxed posture. "She came home from school. Well, the school we thought she'd been too-"

"She was." Severus confirmed that the girl really did attend the Swiss boarding school.

"How?"

"We have ways of… She has the intellectual capacity to participate in…" His attempt at officiousness as a means to prevent his inner emotions from going on display failed him. He didn't like not having the right words immediately at his disposal. Severus summoned the fortitude not to look abashed as he fell-back on 'we're wizards for a reason'. "There are ways for someone to be in two places at the same time."

The woman stilled for a moment, and blinked. She classified his vaguely specific allusion into the same category as 'petrification'. "I don't know how to respond to that…"

"You were saying?" Justin prompted.

The woman resumed her deliberate pacing, another mannerism that could be traced to her daughter, as she admitted to events she'd rather have kept private. The woman didn't understand that his life, as well as others, was inextricably committed to the life of the missing young woman. They couldn't, nor wouldn't, sever their respective…attachments… any more than her parents could, or would, if ever the opportunity were manufactured or presented.

"We brought her home. Everything seemed normal. She was a little quiet as we left Heathrow, but we attributed that to end-of-term tiredness. Which was why Richard," she waved at her husband, "and I suggested that we have a quiet dinner at home rather than go out for dinner." She paused in her pacing and spoke more to him than the two teens. "About an hour later, I walked in on her as she was changing. I had bought this blouse for her…" She didn't like the fact that she felt the need to justify something that was an everyday occurrence – walking into her daughter's room unannounced – to any of them. Her grimace had everything to do with what she saw in her minds' eyes. "I walked in, she turned to answer me… That's when I saw it. I saw this vast, ugly, angry-looking purple scar! It stretched from here to here!" Charlotte placed one on her diaphragm and the other over her navel. "Of course I asked her about it!"

Richard braced his hands on the back of the antique settee. His head dipped towards his chest as his current thoughts and memories of that night aligned. Despite the angle, his gaze was squarely fixed on the three wizards.

"I heard them arguing. I walked into her room. I saw the scar." The wish that he'd reacted differently radiated from the man. Culpability tempered his tone as he silently recalled the things he said to his daughter. "Things escalated from there."

"It all came out." Charlotte glossed over the shouting match that must've taken place. Fresh tears rolled down her face. Avoiding all eye contact, she spoke so quietly that it was hard to hear her. "It all came out."

"By this time, somehow –"

"She ran from us and we followed." Charlotte owned up to the proverbial accelerant that consumed her family with the fires spawned from mutually exclusive righteous indignations.

"What started out as an emotionally-charged, make-us-understand-give-and-take-in-loud-voices in her room deteriorated into a full-blown cut-each-other-to-the-quick-go-for-the-jugular-line-in-the-sand screaming match on the back portico." Richard added.

"Sweet Salazar…" Draco looked to his godfather, verifying that each thought the same thing at the same time. His girl didn't 'do' ultimatums.

The husband scrubbed his face with his hand as the memory replayed itself in his mind.

"We were…. We were shouting at each other. The things we said… The accusations each of us hurled at the other." Richard's halting testimony proved he took no pride in the way he or his wife or his daughter had battled. "It was two against one, parent against child… She-I-us…" He looked to the woman beside him, then back at the other three persons in the room. "All of us were out of control. I…. I…"

"Sir – what did you do?" Equally as well-bred as Draco, Justin called on his heritage, training, and long-standing connection between his family and theirs to gently encourage the man to finish his tale even though the ending was a foregone conclusion.

"In the middle of it all, as she was screaming at us, she went on and on about how she 'had' to do what she had to do, and how she couldn't stop doing what she had to do…."

"It was awful… What we said to each other. How we said it." The wife confessed, knowing that absolution wasn't something she, or any other them, could give her.

"I made her promise…."

The three wizards inhaled sharply over Richard's latest four words. The ramifications for a witch or wizard to accept a promise…

Any shame or regret Richard had since conveyed evaporated. His whole demeanour hardened at their non-verbal insinuation.

"I made her promise that once she did what she had to do, she'd forget all about the Wizarding world, come back home, and live the life she was meant to live. I don't even think she realized what she agreed too, but nonetheless-"

The girl defied ultimatums with decorum when applicable, ruthlessness when necessary; her…talent…at negating anyone from having an upper-hand over her was beautiful to watch, her skill only hampered by her age and life experience. In the same vein, Severus knew she'd willingly enter into a one-sided deal with the devil himself if the end result meant she got what she needed. Again, such blatant regard for the mitigating consequences was also a result of her age and life experience. Her father was guilty of preying upon the chink in her proverbial armor: the very values that he himself had listed minutes ago.

"Sweet, merciful, Merlin!" Severus thundered. "Do you know what you've _done_!"

"YES! YES I DO!" He matched Severus in intensity and volume. "I'm not completely unaware of your world or the rules that exist therein! And YES! I'd do it again! I'd do what I had to do keep her!"

Charlotte swallowed convulsively, effectively ending Richard's unrestrained indignation.

"She… It was awful." Her hand rested at the base of her throat, eyes large and clearly reliving what happened that day. "I know I used that word already, but it truly was awful. So many things were said… Then, just as things peaked. She… Oh, Lord, help me!" She tilted her head to the vaulted ceiling, speaking more to her higher-power than to the men in the room, her voice barely more than a strangled whisper. "Things got really bad and she… she… she _changed_."

Anything else that was going to be said was immediately interrupted.

A Patronus, in the shape of striped tabby cat, bounded in through the open door that led to the aforementioned portico and nimbly stopped in front of the three wizards. Its back was arched and its tail and whiskers twitched with agitation.

"Severus – I need you here at my cottage right now!"

All three wizards prepared to leave. It was Justin who said their good-byes and gave his word to the distraught parents.

"We'll find her."

With a powerful _CRACK!_, Justin on one arm and Draco on the other, Severus Apperated.

His last thoughts before he and the two boys re-materialized was that he was about to collect a sizeable amount of money from several different witches and wizards.

He now possessed proof that a Hufflepuff could willingly tap into his inner Slytherin; at no point did the boy imply that the girl would be returned to either of her parents' residences.

* * *

Okay - so, a bit of tweaking; not a new chapter. I'm working on the next couple of chapter adn should have them ready to go by the weekend! Wish me luck!

Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_**June 8th, 1996**_

_**Derbyshire, England**_

A mental commentary echoed behind the escalating argument between parents and child.

She could feel her magic pool inside her. It pressed against her skin, thrummed just below the surface. She could detect a slight aura radiating from her magical core; the faint glow hovered a scant millimetre above her last layer skin. The hairs on her arms, back of her neck, and elsewhere, lifted as her control continued to slip.

Her father… How could he do this to her? Make her promise! Bind her, take away her choices, limit her life!

But the guilt! Yes, she deceived them. She deserved their anger, their fear of what would happen now. Underneath it all, they loved her, and she loved them. And yet, she lied to them. She led them to believe that she never returned to Hogwarts, that the prestigious, extremely competitive, exclusive Swiss all-girls school was the only provider of her education.

As quickly as the guilt washed over her, righteous indignation pulsed deep and potent. What right did they have to tell her what to do! Didn't they remember what was at stake? What she had to do?! It wasn't just her that stood to suffer should she fail to make them realize that their place in her life had been reduced to that of a spectator! Her parents – she scoffed at the title that had applied to the man and woman who contributed genetically to her creation - they had told her that they understood.

LIARS!

Both of them!

Not only did they renege on everything, they _betrayed_ her! What her father did, when he manipulated her into agreeing too… Didn't they know what she'd been going through? That if it weren't for a certain Potions Master, she would be dead?! That she had _failed_, well and truly _failed_, to keep her promise to one man, and _failed_ in her duty to another? Didn't they know how much she blamed herself? Why couldn't they understand what a beastly cow Umbridge had been and why couldn't her parents just hold onto her and comfort her?

She wasn't even aware of what she said back to them. Words flew between the three of them, heated, charged, and unchecked.

Respect and deference for her elders be damned - she unleashed all her pent-up anger, grief, self-admonishment, and insecurities and directed it all at the two people who were supposed to love her – no matter what.

That's when she felt it.

A sliver of recognition flared, despite the fact that neither side had begun to relent. She was on the cusp of lashing out magically. The last thing she needed was for the Ministry to show up, here of all places, and take her into custody!

To her parents, the deep breath she drew appeared to be nothing more than a means to launch her next tirade.

The deep breath she drew was her, trying desperately to find something, some calming thought, some mental image – something, anything! – for her to draw on, to give herself some meager means to counter the maelstrom of darker emotions.

She pictured herself riding her horse, her beautiful walnut-black stallion. Sebastian was her non-judgmental friend. They 'grew up' together, each exchanging unflagging devotion for the past eleven years.

Her pause was an opening her mother seized with surgical precision, on which her father built, on which she sent back at them.

Innuendos cracked like a whip, each finding its mark with cruel precision.

Suppositions raised emotional welts.

Biting logic drew psychological blood.

_Escape… Flee… Run…Escape…Flee…Run_

Those three thoughts fueled her volatile emotional state. Those three thoughts caused her limbs to tremble. The very muscles that held her body upright tightened and released as the realization that if she didn't get away – _right now!_ – she wouldn't be able to retain a hold on her magical abilities.

That's when it happened.

Her control failed.

With the last vestige of conscious intention, unable to stop the unfurling, she turned her magic on herself, instead of releasing it on her parents.

_Flee…Escape…Run!_

Pain.

Blinding pain.

Her perspective of the world, literally, shifted.

Her parents – silenced in mid-tirade. Instead, a different kind of fear, the kind that comes when a parent is helpless to prevent something happening to their child, gripped them.

The damage had been done, though. The previous twenty minutes, from the moment her mother walked in on her to the moment her father and mother had cornered her on the back portico made it impossible for her to stay another minute in their house.

_Flee…Escape…Run!_

On legs not her own, but hers none the less, she clattered down the broad fieldstone steps. A body that held no muscle memory tilted precariously towards the expansive manicured lawn that stretched behind her parents' house. Righting herself, she step-stumbled for a moment before she gathered momentum.

The wind blew against her nose and ears. Her heart pounded as she pushed herself into a dead run.

Surrendering to the call of her blood, she put her magic in charge of finding the most direct path to the one person that wouldn't turn her away.

* * *

_**June 17th, 1996**_

_**Berwick-upon-Tweed, Scotland**_

Five weeks after the fact, and she still needed to use that blasted cane.

The Healers at St. Mungo's told her that she'd been lucky to recover from four Stunners, fired at point-blank range, at all.

She snorted when they'd told her that. They had completely disregarded that glaringly obvious fact that she was Scottish. Her family history was steeped in claymores, haggis, feuds, and wool. Swords, bad food, long-standing grudges and the battle against constant itching meant that such trifles as magical discharge would not be the means of her demise.

Her innate constitution didn't stop her from running out of breath as she gathered up her laundry basket and made for the clothesline. Soft tissue, Poppy explained, required additional time to regrow. It was to be expected that her recuperation would be arduous and lengthy. She wouldn't be able to draw a deep breath, cough, or sneeze, without discomfort for months.

She'd inherited her summer home from her mother's sister's sister-in-law fifty-two years ago. Since then, the ivy-cloaked, field-stone faced, two-storey cottage nestled near the North Sea had served as a place to gather her thoughts, retreat from the world when the world became a little too much for her sensibilities, and the one place where undesirables couldn't find her. Despite being not two miles from the village, there were enough magical folk around her to mask her specific magical signature. The fact that the deed to the property still listed her aunt's name as the primary owner meant that her anonymity was all but guaranteed. She could recover without prying eyes.

Equally important, she'd have a bit of a respite from the daily rigors of working for a man she revered on one level, and reviled on every other. As an educator, Albus Dumbledore excelled. As a man, a wizard, and a human being, Azkaban didn't deserve to host Albus Dumbledore.

_If only Necessity had tapped dear Severus sooner…_

The walk to the south side of the property wasn't long, and the border of the path teemed with summer blossoms and the fragrance of growing grass. A chipmunk, on a mission most important only to himself, scampered ahead of her and disappeared into a lush bed of pale-purple flox. She couldn't help but wonder if her Animagus form would stalk the little critter or leave him be.

It took a bit of figuring out, but she soon found a way to harvest her clean laundry – really, magic was all well and good for most household tasks, but it couldn't imbue sheets, towels, and garments with the scent of a fine Scottish summer day – without constantly tipping her cane to the ground.

Basket filled, lines empty, pins tucked away,-

A sharp bray, the sound of an animal in torment, fractured her thoughts. Something, something BIG, was thrashing on her front lawn!

All that had been carefully folded spilled onto the grass, abandoned as she gripped her cane tightly and propelled herself forward.

Through the back door, across the kitchen, through the lounge, out the front receiving room, she threw the front door wide and limped across the threshold before the recently replaced door close bounced back into place.

A large, if she had to guess the beast stood at nearly sixteen hands, female horse high-stepped. Despite the evident trauma, the mare was beautiful. Agitation, fear, and injury kept the beast in motion. Its head tossed, tail swished. Exhaustion rippled across and down the horse's flanks. The mincing steps it managed told of the damages it sustained to its hooves and ankles. Its coat was streaked with cuts and scrapes. Three deep scratches scored the length of its rump, as if the horse had shaken off something that had latched onto it. Tail, mane, and withers were tangled and knotted. Ribs were clearly defined. Mud and dirt painted its dark chestnut hued body. An irregular marking, nearly obscured by filth and dried blood, sprawled across its muscled chest. The animal's forelock was ratty. Grit crusted over the majority of its finely-shaped nose. At first, second, and third glance, she wager that the beast hadn't seen the inside of a stable or the backside of a curry comb for quite some time.

She couldn't get near it. Every time she tried to approach it, it would shy away, terrified. It would back-step, brush against the mid-height stone wall that enclosed the land in front of her cottage, only to stumble in the opposite direction.

Something wasn't right… This wasn't some beast of burden who'd thrown it's rider nor a domesticated animal that had escaped its paddock.

She sent a prayer that her suspicions would be proved wrong.

Minerva stepped back, as best she could, and held up her hand. A single pulse of magic left her upraised palm.

The resulting magical resonance made it impossible to misinterpret. Her prayer wasn't going to be answered the way she wanted it to be this day.

Wand extended, the act of which incited the mare into a fresh cycle of fear-induced histrionics, she fired off her Patronus. Immediately, she conjured her silver tabby for a second time, and sent off a second missive.

The effect of her use of magic on the horse nearly brought the animal to its knees. Minerva could see the mare's heart racing. Froth dangled from its bared teeth bared and ears twitched constantly as it paced erratically.

The _CRACK!_ of Apparation startled Minerva. Severus, she was expecting; the horse rearing up on its hind legs, lack of shoes the reason for the bloody hoof prints that speckled her yard, wasn't.

:  
:

"Minerva – what's going on!"

On reflex, unphased by his Apperation, Severus stepped towards the older woman and steadied her. Hand supporting her arm, his gaze quickly shifted to the chestnut mare that hurtled itself at Minerva's stone wall.

Without being told, a slightly wobbly Justin reached for the fallen cane and passed it back to the Gryffindor matriarch. Draco, for his part, swayed for only a moment. The lad only had eyes for the manic mare.

"Severus – thank goodness!" Minerva was sincerely relieved to see him. Her breath was labored and her skin tone waxy, but she had her wits about her. She glanced at his companions and arched her eyebrow accordingly.

"They were with me when your Patronus arrived. We were making a house-call, to find our wayward charge." He guided her back a few steps as the horse once more brandished the underside of it's hooves. His wand was in his palm in a flash.

"Don't, Severus – put your wand away. That goes for you two, as well."

Draco and Justin complied, albeit with great reserve.

"She's beautiful." Justin intoned, admiration for the horse's lines and apparent pedigree appealing to his inner horseman. "She's an Andalusian."

"She's magnificent." Draco's appreciation mirrored Justin's.

Severus looked down at Minerva, and then at the beast. It mattered not the breed, only what had to be done to save the animal from itself.

Something niggled the very edges of his magic. Guided by Necessity, he indulged this...curiosity...and pushed his magic outward.

Realization creased his harsh features.

"You felt it too, I take it."

"Yes." He drew himself up to his full height and gently but firmly passed Minerva to Justin. With a subtle gesture, he beckoned Draco to come closer to him. "What do you suggest?"

"Stun the beast?" Draco suggested cavalierly.

"Och, no!" Minerva's brogue deepened during certain situations. This was one of them. "Anythin' done to her willna' work. She's protected."

Severus played out several different scenarios in his mind. He settled for the one most likely to involve the least amount of injury – to them or the animal.

"Do you have any Dreamless Sleep or Calming Draught?"

"Both. They're upstairs, in my dressing room."

Without turning his head, he shifted his eyes to Draco. "Bring whatever you find first."

The boy nodded. They weren't close to where they were before everything went pear-shaped, but the youngest Malfoy responded to his missive without hesitation. With barely an acknowledgement, the blond sprinted for the cottage, the door swinging shut behind him.

"Justin – work your way around the backside of the cottage. On the ground, you'll find a wicker basket. Bring it back here – empty."

"Yes, Professor."

Justin rushed off on McGonagall's order.

"We have to calm her. She's half way to cardiac arrest as it is." Minerva has shifted so that she now flanked him, while still standing just a bit behind him. "We can't do anything for her until she calms down."

He agreed.

Both he and the Transfiguration professor had seen this kind of thing before, but never to this level of crisis. Before, these types of things had been dealt with it had been in a controlled environment, either in a clearing within the Forbidden Forest or the classroom.

Another _CRACK!_ and Remus Lupin materialized.

"I received your message, Minerva – what's-"

He never got to finish his sentence.

The horse charged towards them. Not in an attempt to hurt them, but a random direction chosen by abject terror.

The witch and two wizards scrambled to get out of the path of the on-coming horse. Fright-ridden neighing rang in their ears. The harsh sound of erratic blowing quickly followed. Hooves stomped. Head was tossed as the long, elegant neck whipped from side-to-side. Strong muscles flexed as the horse charged again, this time in a different direction.

The mare's dark brown eyes flared bright amber at the sight of the werewolf. Then, the beast reared again.

Minerva was right – the animal was going to kill itself if they didn't do something quickly.

"Why did you call for him!" Severus barked. He didn't like the werewolf. The horse 'liked' him even less. The wizard's arrival had only exacerbated an already unstable situation.

"I thought he'd have a calming effect." Minerva defended her decision.

"Good thinking." His sarcasm wasn't lost to any of them.

"Severus, Remus – we must do what we can."

Severus gathered his magic to him. He didn't have many happy memories, but he summoned enough moments of his life where he'd felt calm, contentedness, and peace, that he was able to join Lupin and Minerva in projecting those feelings to the distraught horse.

The animal was back on all fours, and still looked at each of them as if they were going to slaughter her at any moment, but it no longer was charging. Progress, however minute and tenuous, had been achieved.

Draco appeared at the door way nearly at the same moment Justin came around the side of the cottage. Each boy held what he'd been sent to retrieve.

With careful, quiet, footsteps, Justin passed the basket to Minerva and Draco pressed two vials into Severus' hand. Neither commented on the fact that Lupin was now among them.

"We've got to do this quickly." To the boys, Lupin included, he tilted his chin at the mare. "Do what you can."

They each remembered 'how well' the mare responded to the mere presence of wands. Minerva had the added experience of witnessing what actual magic usage had on the mare.

With a swish-and-a-flick from Minerva, the wicker basket solidified. The edges became smooth as it was transfigured into a mid-sized, clean, wooden trough.

Mentally calculating the volume of the trough, Severus used his wand to fill it with water. His other hand dribbled a measure from both vials into the rapidly filling container.

"How long do you think she'd been like this?" Minerva asked.

Task completed, Severus kept a wary eye on where Lupin now conferred with Draco and Justin. "According to her parents, she ran away eight days ago."

"Merciful Morgana!"

Minerva's sudden exclamation was an understatement!

"Fools!" Severus hissed.

If things were bad before, things were now a whole lot worse!

The trio of wizards came on the horse, effectively boxing it in as the stone wall was on one side, and the wizards fanning out around her. The scent of the werewolf sent her into a fierce panic. This time, when the mare did rear up, hooves jerking in the air and terrible shrieking noises flowing out from its trembling lips, it was with the need of self-preservation.

Justin had the common sense to shove the older man up-wind and out of the animal's line-of-sight. Draco stepped closer to the out-of-control horse and raised his arms, an attempt to reach the animal with a calming touch.

Severus, his concern for his godson as well as the mare, charged forward.

A surge of powerful magic from the mare propelled them backwards.

As he landed, his sleeve slid back, his Dark Mark framed by pale skin and dark green grass.

Not to be deterred, Draco picked himself up and made for the frightened horse one more time.

The horse reared again. The amber light in her eyes flared again, this time brighter and longer than before. Draco threw up his arm to protect his head and face. This time, the ragged edge of it's right front hoof grazed Draco's left forearm. The cuff gave way. The fine linen of his shirtsleeve pooled around his elbow.

The horrible tattoo of a skull and a snake, the symbol of everything that had gone wrong over the past six years, was revealed.

"Severus – no!" Genuine dismay, for Draco, for himself, for the state of things to come within the Affinity, filled the only two words Minerva could muster.

"Yes." He laid the blame for lad's new status – and the current crisis - squarely, albeit unfairly, on The Boy Who Somehow Still Lived. "The fallout from Potter's 'little adventure' to the Ministry reached as far as Wiltshire, Minerva."

If Severus were the type of man to mourn in public, this would the moment to do so.

He wasn't.

He didn't.

A pain-ridden neigh had all eyes on the horse.

Draco's arm was still up, the horse still balanced on her rear two legs, when she suddenly tilted even further back.

The amber light in her eyes glowed brighter and brighter.

Powerless to do anything but watch, two protrusions sprouted from her body. Within a moment, two fully formed, fully fledged wings now flexed in the Scottish sunshine.

He dashed forward and did what Lupin was doing to the 'Puff – he dragged Draco away from the newly 'born' Aethonon.

In the process, he nearly tripped over Theo Nott.

In her heighten state, there was no way he or Draco would get close enough to perform Legilimency. Minerva's Gryffindorness didn't warrant her the disposition for the craft. He doubted the 'Puff possessed any of the necessary skills needed to delve into another sentient mind. He mentally listed others in the Affinity, searching the roster for the most likely candidate to create the necessary emotional bridge.

In mid thought, his brain caught up with his eyesight.

Confused and moderately bewildered, Theo Nott struggled to make the connection between 'where' he was with 'why' he was there.

"I was walking in from outside…"

That explained where the lad came from – he was at home, literally 'minding his own business'.

It didn't explain why, or how, he came to be standing on Minerva McGonagall's front lawn.

"All of the sudden, I felt _her_ – for the first time in more than a week…"

Severus scrambled to form a hypothesis. Minerva figured one out before he did.

"She summoned him, Severus!"

"More than likely," he concurred. The fact that she was able to 'call' her other Keeper meant that there was a chance to retrieve her yet.

Thankfully, Justin, Lupin, and Draco had the presence of mind to keep their thoughts to themselves.

"Mister Nott?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Are you Marked?"

"Not yet."

"Thank Merlin!" Minerva's hand found his sleeve, glad to know that the tall, reedy boy hadn't been subjected to same fate as his Housemate.

Stepping back, making sure that everyone but the latest arrival did as well, he watched as Theo moved towards the winged horse. There was now plenty of space between them and the trough. Of which, McGonagall levitated and set down closer to the Slytherin.

Speaking quietly, Severus chanced a glance at the 'Puff. "Mister Finch-Fletchley – tell us what you know about Aethonons."

The boy swallowed twice before answering. "They are kin to Abraxans but also very different. Most scholars agree that Aethonons are more rare, that they are more akin to unicorns than their Abraxan 'cousins', that Aethonons possess similar attributes as unicorns without the encumbrances of the mystical aspects of unicorns. Because of such, it is possible to emulate their form as the wings are completely retractable, enabling the shifter – or Animagus – to also masquerade as a horse. To date, that is all theory as there are no recorded instances thereof."

Severus's question provided enough of a distraction to afford Mister Nott time to approach the Aethonon.

With rapt attention, they watched as the boy slowly placed one foot in front of the other, all the while, speaking softly to the animal. With a level of patience and understated determination that was a credit to the man that the boy would continue to grow to be, it wasn't long before his fingertips touched the mare's dirt-encrusted neck.

None of them could hear all of what Nott said to the beast, but the female Aethonon descended from a terrified state to that of an on-guard skittishness. Off-balanced because of it's new wings, at Nott's encouragement, the animal step-stumbled alongside the boy.

A carefully metered breath flowed into and out of his nose as he watched Nott escort the mare to the hastily transfigured trough. He stood, transfixed with watching and listening to the messy act of a horse drawing water into its mouth.

A broad, pink, tongue lapped at the drops that dangled from its lips and chin. The light amber eyes faded to a shade of darker brown. The lovely, long, lashes that ringed the now more naturally-hued eyes drifted shut.

It must have sensed something was amiss, because it suddenly backed away from the trough and Mister Nott.

If a horse – Aethonon – could hold someone accountable for trickery, the beast laid blame on Mister Nott. For his part, the boy accepted the – hurt? – look the animal leveled at him and actually looked slightly ashamed for the part he played in luring her into a moment of trust.

"I had to – there was no other way." Theo's apology did little to prevent the former Andalusian from side-stepping away from him, tail and ears flicking with disappointment and fear. "You were so upset. No one could reach you…"

As…touching…as it was to witness Nott's attempt to explain himself, Severus knew how much Dreamless Sleep and Calming Draught he'd put into that trough. And since he had been the one that had brewed Minerva's potions, he knew exactly how long it would be before they took effect.

"Lupin – even you can discern the most likely area to apply a Cushioning Charm. She may be a magical creature, but Mister Finch-Fletchley, I dare say Draco as well, can expound on the ramifications should any equine suffer a broken leg or shattered hip."

Without a moment to spare, the werewolf waved his wand at a large patch of lawn as the beast teetered to the left and then to the right.

The Aethonon's rear legs gave first. Then her front legs. Mister Nott kneeled beside her, his hands alternating between stroking her battered neck and finger-combing her snarled mane, offering assurance despite his culpability. With almost a human-like whimper, the mare fully succumbed to the properties imbued into each of the potions she'd ingested.

Once he was confident her eyes wouldn't open again for several hours, Severus looked at the other men in turn. "Stay here."

Minerva countered his orders, but only as his instructions pertained to Draco and Justin.

"Draco, do you remember how to get to my dressing room?"

The boy nodded.

"On the opposite side of that hallway, two doors down, is a guest room. I want you to take Justin with you and check to make sure everything is in order."

Neither boy wanted to leave the yard, but nor could they disobey. Severus threw his godson a look that conveyed to the blond Slytherin that all would be explained very shortly.

The boys thus dispatched, he took Minerva's arm and together they strode towards the unconscious mare. Lupin followed along beside them. The werewolf seemed puzzled as to why Severus tugged at the buttons of his frock coat as they crossed the yard.

"Lupin – I can assume that two years does not exceed your capacity to reproduce the spell you cast on Peter Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack?"

The wizard nodded. "There's no possibility of forgetting anything that happened that night, least of all exposing Wormtail as a treacherous, traitorous, bastard."

Lupin palmed his wand, the words to the spell interrupted by a lilting Scottish accent.

"No, Severus. I'll do it."

"Alright Minerva." He shrugged out of his frock coat and held it at the ready. "Mister Nott, I suggest you step back and stand with Lupin." The boy complied.

A long moment later, a non-verbal spell flew from the tip of Minerva's wand and struck the broadest part of the Aethonon.

A dull golden glow encapsulated the Aethonon. As the glow diminished, the form that rested on Scottish woman's front lawn was no longer that of winged horse.

Severus swept forward with Minerva, his left arm wrapped supportingly around the small of her back.

In a thrice, his frock coat was spread over the battered body. Minerva took care to make sure there were no gaps in the draping before he filled his arms and arose. With stoicism that was in direct opposite of his true feelings, he made for the sanctuary of Minerva McGonagall's country cottage.

Theo Nott walked in front of them. Minerva leaned on Lupin's arm, the soft thud of her cane punctuated their quiet conversation as the werewolf assisted his former Head of House indoors.

The promise made to the girl's parents now stood fulfilled.

Hermione Granger had indeed been found.

* * *

Again - not a 'new' chapter, but definitely a more cleaned-up chapter- right?

Please - let me know your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

_**June 17**__**th**__**, 1996**_

_**Berwick-upon-Tweed**_

Severus Snape wasn't an overly fit man. Long arms, long legs and a gently flaring back complimented his seventy-three-inch stature. The strength he possessed came from his diligence in maintaining his body as best he could, despite the rigors demanded of him by two utterly consuming masters. His musculature didn't exceed his body's frame, but it did fill in the dimensions of his limbs and torso.

It was with this strength that he carefully negotiated the path between Minerva's front lawn and the spare bedroom the woman had sent Draco and Justin to prepare.

At no point did the girl in his arms cease to struggle. Her wriggles were restricted due to being swaddled in his frock coat, but he could feel every shift she made. The girl was still sedated. If pressed for his best guess as to why the Gryffinette continued to writhe, he'd have to say that some aspect the Dreamless Sleep she'd ingested had failed.

Ahead of them, Theo Nott held open doors and shifted furniture so that he wouldn't have to break his stride. The stairs to the second floor were uneven, steep, and narrow – typical of country cottages. From the first riser, he had to turn sideways so that the girl's head or feet didn't bump the walls of the equally narrow stairway as he carefully planted each foot. Behind him, Lupin assisted Minerva up the same stairs, their conversation completely disregarded as his focus stayed on the girl and his internal thoughts. The two were mutually inclusive.

The girl's weight mattered not. Her response to him, Draco, and what caused…this…to happen to her weighed more.

Theo stopped in front an already open door and quickly turned left. Following the boy, Severus, with Hermione Granger carefully cradled in his arms, stepped inside.

The room wasn't overly bright nor was it opulently dressed. The furnishings matched the décor of the rest of the house: Sensible Scottish. A handmade quilt had been folded back, exposing simple cotton sheeting. The pillows plumped, and oil lamps lit. One of the two windows had been opened. A light layer of dust and pollen dulled the wooden surfaces. The only things that seemed out-of-place were the five very different wizards who fanned out around the bed. Their self-imposed perimeter saved him from having to order them to stand back.

With efficient care, he placed her on the bed. Her head lolled to the side as he settled her. It was Minerva who reached around him and gathered the folded edge of the quilt in her free hand. Without her asking, he stepped away so that she could cover the child. The thoughtful gesture Minerva made, to lift the girl's hair free of her shoulders, was a tenderness he wished he could've extended to the child.

The metaphor that the image represented wasn't lost on him or her. Between the two of them, as represented by her quilt and his frock coat, they both provided layers – literally and figuratively – of safety and protection for Miss Granger. The metaphor carried through to the others, those in the room and outside of it, that the two Hogwarts professors wouldn't be the only ones to do so.

It was Lupin who broke the quiet.

"Draco – I'm so sorry…"

"Don't."

The boy's request was as sharp and succinct as the werewolf's words – so typically Gryffindor - of attempted commiseration were un-necessary.

"He doesn't need yours, or anyone else's pity, Lupin." Severus all but snarled at his former schoolmate. He would've been more snide if it weren't for the properly conveyed empathy Minerva extended when she let the hand she placed on his arm say what didn't need to be put into actual words.

Draco's pinched expression spoke for him better than any words the boy could've chosen.

Exercising the Ravenclaw aspect of her Gryffindorness, Minerva ignored the byplay for the matter at hand. She was also one of the few he allowed to touch him, which was why he didn't shake her hand off his shoulder.

"Severus – can you find out what happened?"

He didn't give in to the urge to breathe deeply or sigh heavily. He stamped down those impulses and did his best to settle his emotions.

"Perhaps."

"Please. _Try_."

He nodded. Preparing himself, he heard Minerva speak to the other wizards.

"Let's leave Professor Snape to get on with it. It won't do for us to be hovering about while he's trying to concentrate."

Absently, he was aware of his colleague ushering everyone else out of the room and down the stairs.

Alone now, he once more gathered his magic and let it pool within his core. His left hand was closer to the girl and would've been more convenient to use, but given her reaction both outside and as he carried her into the cottage to the Dark Marks etched onto his and Draco's skin and, yes, souls, it was with his right hand that he made contact with her temples as his internal voice whispered, _"Legilimens_._"_

Images and emotions swirled chaotically. He felt hideously disorientated. This was vastly different from the last time he ventured into her mind. Before, all her thoughts, emotions, feelings, and memories were neatly compartmentalized. Her magic ran parallel to her psyche and the only dissonance he detected was that of a woman transitioning out of girlhood.

Not now.

Her magic was wildly out-of-synch, her psyche in turmoil. There was no way he could match the two for her. That would have to be something she'd have to do herself.

Darker emotions such as guilt, anger, resentment, failure, and shame over-rode any lighter emotions the girl possessed. There was no sense of accomplishment, no triumph, no positive feeling to light his way as he sought some sort of purchase within her mind.

Why did she feel guilty? What – whom – did she fail? Shame – where did that stem from? Anger – over what, at whom – was it directed?

He broadened his mental reach. It was the only way he'd find the answers they all so desperately needed.

* * *

Minerva's lounge wasn't big to begin with. The addition of one more body only made it seem that much smaller.

Two fingers of Scottish Fortification had been doled out to one and all. Lupin leaned against the far edge of the picture window, hand tucked in one pocket while his other hand cradled a tumbler. Minerva, cane at her side, sat in wingback chair. An afghan covered her lap. On the side table next to her sat two tumblers, one of which was untouched. Mister Nott and Draco shared the settee. Hunched forward and head bowed; Theo's fingers also gripped a tumbler that dangled between his spread knees. Ankle across his knee and partially reclined, Draco's head was tipped back as if by will alone he could see through the ceiling and keep watch on the still-sleeping girl.

Another winged-back chair, a match for Minerva's, on the opposite side of the side-table – again, the imagery the placement invoked was as poignant as it was coincidental – awaited him. With grace, he allowed himself the luxury of the comfortable chair, the taste of a well-aged brandy, and the relative security that Minerva's presence afforded.

As the 'first' member of the Affinity, Minerva set three cardinal ground rules.

Rule Number One: no lies. That included no half-truths, no subjective perceptions of the truth as well as if one didn't know what the actual truth of a matter, then it isn't the truth. Rule Number Two: no secrets. Rule Number Three: any information, thoughts, theories, or concerns that had to do with the Affinity was to be brought out into the open and shared.

Minerva personified the 'lead by respect' doctrine. Trust and respect, two commodities that couldn't be fabricated or faked, had to exist between them all. They didn't have to like each other. She wasn't so naïve as to believe that they'd all get along. Despite the reason why they'd been called upon, they were still the people they were before this all started, the result of their respective life experiences. No one was going to go through some mind-altering, personality-transforming epiphany just because Necessity had selected them. But, given what was on-the-line, Minerva did expect them to substitute interpersonal grievances for the necessary trust and respect of each other's roles within the Affinity.

Which was why, even though Lupin hadn't been called on by Necessity _per_ _se_, Severus recognized the attachment Miss Granger shared with the former DADA teacher. For that reason, Severus was able to re-categorize the werewolf as an 'ally' instead of a beast he'd be glad to stake with one of his silver stirring rods.

Of course, there was one enormous 'but' to the first three rules. The Rules only applied to those who had been selected by Necessity. There was one member, a pivotal member, yet to be brought into the fold.

He's swallowed half his drink before he felt collected enough to share what he'd discovered.

"We seem to be missing someone."

Minerva quirked a small grin at his wry assessment. "I felt it wise to send Mister Finch-Fletchley to Derbyshire. I have every confidence that the Grangers will make sure the boy returns to his home in due time."

If he'd felt more like himself, he would've made some sarcastic comment about 'Puffs and messenger boys. As it was, it was all he could do to nod in agreement that she'd made the correct decision while he'd been upstairs.

"Portkey?'

"Naturally." She actually looked a bit pleased with herself. "I reset the one you originally made." She contemplated the surface of her own drink, then she set it aside. "Draco and Justin gave us an overview of what happened at Chadwick House. Regardless of the verbal flaying that took place between Hermione and her parents, they are still her parents. They need to know that their daughter is now safe and sound."

"She's neither." He felt no compunction over contradicting the older woman so harshly. He tipped the glass against his lips. The liquor coated the back of his throat in the most agreeable manner. His gaze lingered on McGonagall but his words were for everyone in the room. "The girl is a mess."

Lupin pivoted away from the window in the wake of Severus' announcement. "How bad is she?"

"She'll recover physically." His confidence rang absolute. Once healing spells, topical ointments, and nutritional supplements were administered, which should be done sooner than later, her body would recover. She might have a few new scars when she awoke, but no permanent impairment. "But the psychological damage…." The last of his drink flowed over his teeth. His glass landed on the side table. "She's caught up in a brutal cycle of self-recrimination."

"Why do I get the feeling that you've made a gross understatement, Severus?"

"Because I have, Minerva." He slid a side-ways glance at his godson. Draco's new reality preyed especially viciously, and not just on the girl. "Godric's manky pants!" He swore. If he thought it would do him good, he'd replenish his now-empty glass. More alcohol wasn't what was necessary. Honest discussion was, regardless of feelings of those in the room. "The girl is holding herself personally responsible for all of our altered realities."

Lupin raked a hand through his tousled hair. He might have come in on the middle of things, but he was quick to catch up. "There are two hundred miles between here and Derbyshire."

"And she's had eight days to travel as such." Severus snorted unkindly. "Do the math. For a horse, especially given the fact that she was in a state of flight-at-any-and-all-cost for days on end, that kind of distance in that little time is completely doable."

Theo was further behind than Lupin. He wasn't so quick to catch up. Severus knew that the boy's confusion had nothing to do with Nott's aptitude for deciphering context or intelligence; his academic rank behind that of Draco's and Hermione's by the smallest of percentages. It was evident that the dark-haired Slytherin's heart and mind were still reeling from the fact that he'd been transported from his familial home to a cottage owned by his Transfiguration professor and had to trick someone important to him so that she could be forced into reverting to her human form.

"Will someone please tell us what happened?" He looked to each of them, not caring who answered, just so long as someone started to fill in the proverbial blanks.

By some unspoken consensus, it fell to Severus to translate recent events into some sort of cohesive narrative.

Severus had everyone's attention, whether he wanted it or not.

How did one convey what he saw in Miss Granger's mind?

How could he explain how she felt so trapped within a body that wasn't her own? How she had to learn that walking and running were not – and yet, were – the same as trotting, galloping and cantering? That the world looked different when one stood on four legs? That every noise was heard differently, every thought was processed differently, that every encounter – whether it be with a tree branch, a road, a human, another animal, the wind, or rain – generated a flight-rather-than-fight response? How instinct, rather than experience, made her eat grass, leaves and other flora? In order to drink, she had to bring her head to the source rather than bring a cup or glass to her mouth? That she wasn't herself even though she knew, on some level, she was still Hermione Granger? That only three words, three motivations, run-flee-escape, had propelled her from the heart of the English countryside to the Scottish coast.

Severus spent a long moment separating the experiences he'd absorbed from her from his own perceptions as to what she experienced during the eight days she was trapped in, what would now be, her Animagus form.

He leaned back into his chair and fixed his gaze on a spot on the wall between two paintings. It was the neutrality that spot which enabled him to answer Mister Nott.

"Her mother saw the physical manifestation of Dolohov's curse. During the course of that…_discussion_…as to how she came to be scarred, Miss Granger's charade was revealed." A sharp inhale from Minerva and a near-growl from Lupin made it necessary to quickly state, "Not the 'how'. No one but us," meaning the Affinity, "know the 'how'." He resumed his fixation with the far wall. "Things quickly escalated. And grew quite heated. The girl's mother wasn't overstating things when she said that the things the three of them – her mother, father, and the girl herself – said to one another were 'awful'. During the worst of it, as things hit a crescendo on the back portico, Miss Granger lost control of her magic."

"Let me guess. Instead of turning her magic on her parents, or releasing it all together-"

"She turned her magic back upon herself." Severus finished Lupin's sentence without acknowledging the sharp looks and non-verbal exclamations that came from Draco and Theo.

"She could have…" Minerva's face and posture mirrored her thoughts as what could've happened to the girl if things had played out differently. As it was, her expression of deep concern included the girl and the girl's state of mind.

"Let's be grateful that her last human thought was to go to someone who wouldn't turn her away."

The implications of his words cut all of them. He angled his body at his godson.

"You think you know why she couldn't go to you, and you're only partially right, Draco. Her rationale is far more personal and deeper than the Dark Lord relocating himself, and those loyal to him, to Wiltshire."

Severus wasn't eager to rehash what took place between himself and Lucius Malfoy's heir, so he didn't. Nor did he want to relive the moments where a then-fifteen-year-old Draco was dragged, kicking and screaming, in front of the Dark Lord and forced to take the Dark Mark.

"She blames herself, completely and utterly, for your father's incarceration and your subsequent subjugation."

He fished in his pockets for a handkerchief, of which he silently passed to Minerva. The woman needed it more than he did. He allowed her to shed the tears he couldn't.

"The showdown with her parents was the catalyst for her loss of control. There is no singular cause," he folded his hands so that he could grip his fingers tight enough to cause himself enough physical pain to distract himself from the residual effects of experiencing her emotional pain, "for her transformation."

"You said she blames herself?" Lupin asked.

"She does." Severus confirmed. He'd know; he had yet to find a way to exorcise his own demons. Guilt, self-recrimination, and culpability were just a few of the darker colours that stained his aura. Of course he'd recognize the symptoms in someone else. "For _everything_ that happened to _everyone_ that night, she has assumed responsibility."

"Which would explain why she didn't show up at Longbottom Park." Augusta's grandson didn't walk away unscathed, mentally or physically, from the Ministry. Minerva grimaced at her own sense of failure instead of at anyone seated – or standing – in her lounge.

Severus wanted to tell Minerva that she shouldn't hold herself accountable for not realizing the extent of her cub's distress, but that would be a lie. They were all responsible for being so caught up in the fallout that none of them saw just how affected their girl actually was.

"We all know why she can't-"

"Won't."

"Won't," Severus accepted, and agreed with, Nott's choice of word in regards to Miss Granger's jaded perception of Dumbledore's favourite red-headed family, "go to the Weasley's."

"She's not the only one who feels something amiss, Severus." Lupin frowned. He, too, was fully aware of the Granger girl's stance on that matter. "I'm not one of you all," he waved at the others in the room, "but my senses are such that even I'm feeling like she's being cornered into something with the Weasley boy."

"Of course she is!" Draco surged to his feet. "There's no way that mangy ginger is…" He fought to put his thoughts into viable words. His arms swung open, a non-verbal challenge to the absentee boy. "He's just _not_." He clapped the back of one hand into his other palm, punctuating his reasoning. "The rules say: opposite but equal. In no way is he 'opposite but equal' to her!"

Severus and the rest watched as Draco proved his point.

"Look. As much as I don't like the thought of sharing anything, least of all her, with…_him_." The name Potter never echoed so loudly in a room without being actually said. "It makes sense that he's the other member of our – eventual – triad. The rule states: opposite but equal, right?

"Potter is an orphan. Granger has two parents. That would mean that the other 'husband' would have to have grown up with parents that were 'there' but 'weren't'. Granger grew up with money and position and responsibilities, but never flaunted it or utilized it. Potter grew up with no position but with the expectation of saving the whole blasted Wizarding world – if that doesn't scream 'responsibility', I don't know what does!" He didn't list the fact that he'd had money, position and responsibilities thrust upon him and wielded all three since he left the cradle. "Not to mention that it's a well-known fact that Charlus Potter died with a full vault and Potter's father never lived long enough to spend it."

No one interrupted Draco's verbal treatise.

"Granger is Muggleborn. She didn't know squat about magic until you," he swung his arm at Minerva, "knocked on her door. Potter is Wizard-kind, but grew up without knowing the least iota about magic until that creature-hugging oaf," he didn't need to say Rubeus Hagrid for everyone to know who he referred to, "literally knocked down his door. And none of us, from the moment we were born, had a chance at living our own lives.

"Out of any of us, how does Ronald Buggered-in-the-Brain Weasley factor into this equation? The kid comes from a HUGE family. Land-rich, I'll give him that much, but the kid doesn't have so much as two Knuts to rub together. There's no way in the seven hells that he knows a thing about responsibility aside from shovelling food into his never-empty stomach! Longbottom might share in Potter's fate, but he's no match for her intellect or her magical capability. Blaise is 'ruled out' as he has just as many siblings as Weasley and is close to his mother but doesn't have a father. The only one of us that even comes close to meeting the criteria is Theo here, and he's clearly her Keeper, alongside Finch-Fletchley. You think I don't know that I was conceived the second she was born? There are only nine months between September and June. Or that, of those among the Affinity, only the three of us have titles?"

Severus agreed with every point his godson made. Draco was the likeliest candidate. The boy wasn't wrong in his interpretations of their respective birthdays.

He had his own thoughts on the issue at hand.

"Jealousy for Potter aside, the Weasley boy resents Granger on several different levels. He'd never admit it, not in those words, but it's clearly evident in the way he ridicules her academic passion, her lack of interest in athletics in any capacity other than spectator, her commitment to Potter, and her dedication to bettering herself." It was only in company such as this that he could admit his conviction in the girl's capabilities. "Given the right encouragements, access, and support, there's every reason to expect that she'll have her own footnote in the Wizarding Annuls."

"I have nothing against the Weasley boy, _per se_. But he isn't the right one for her. The bickering alone!" Minerva clucked her tongue. "Salt of the earth, he is. But, like salt, moderation is best. Ronald Weasley wants his own version of his mother; someone who'll be content with the minimum and find her fulfilment within the boundaries of her home."

"Are you sure about that?" Lupin asked. He leaned against the window's moulding and angled his upper body towards those seated.

Severus couldn't help but agree with the werewolf's scepticism.

"What do you mean, Remus?"

"Molly – being a happy homemaker and all that." The man was mentally reviewing his interactions with the woman over the past couple of years. "Haven't you ever felt something 'off' about her, Minerva?"

"Again, not to be redundant, but what do you mean, Lupin?" Severus couldn't help but hope that the former Marauder had come to a similar conclusion he himself had drawn about the Weasley matriarch.

"I haven't figured it out just yet, but there's something about that woman that just seems…off."

Clearly that wasn't the word the man wanted to use, but it was the only word that came out of his mouth. Severus couldn't resist taking a poke. "Articulate as always, Lupin."

Draco, though he'd paid attention to the bit of doubt Lupin raised over Weasley's mother, was still caught up in his need to have everyone agree with him. "We've got to do something! Weaselbee's not _right_ for her!"

"Och - of course he's not!" On that, she was emphatic. Equally emphatic, she continued. "But until we can firmly fix the boy's place – and make no doubt that the lad does have a place in all this," Minerva channelled assurance and pragmatism to the emotional blond and overlooked the childish name-calling, "we can't discount him. Nor can we do anything to arouse anyone else's suspicions."

"I bet Dumbledore has something to do with it," Theo offered his own thoughts on the matter.

"To borrow from Severus: what do you mean, Mister Nott?"

"I don't know the how or why. Professor McGonagall, you and Professor Snape have done everything possible to make Hermione Granger seem like your everyday, garden-variety, Muggleborn. Which, truly, isn't too far from the truth." He shrugged, unable to give any more reasons for his suspicions. "It just feels like his hand, that's all. Like, maybe, he wants to tie Potter to Weasley through Granger."

"Do you think he'd do that?"

Minerva's question was rhetorical, but Severus found himself answering nonetheless.

"History has proved that Albus Dumbledore's moral compass is permanently skewed to what he deems to be in his best interests, regardless of the means by which he achieves his ends. Not to mention that his definition of, 'The Greater Good', is entirely subjective to whatever overall plan he has for each and every one of us.

"As long as we all continue to play our perceived parts, as 'assigned' by our illustrious Headmaster, our actual parts will remain safely concealed." Elbows on the padded armrests of his chair, Severus steepled his fingers as he reminded them all how much was at stake.

"Which, as you all know, is imperative." She looked at each one of them over the rim of her glasses. "If Albus were to see Miss Granger, or any of you for that matter, other than as you are, he would take her from us in a heartbeat. I shudder when I think of what he'd then plan for the rest of you."

Minerva's protectiveness wasn't just for show or the empty personification of a House trait. The woman had sought justice on his behalf during his Hogwarts years, albeit under some ruse or another. For every instance that Dumbledore overlooked the cruelty heaped on him by the quartet of Gryffindors, Minerva sentenced The Marauders to mucking out Threstal stalls, detailing carriages, and scrubbing staircases in remote sections of the castle. Sans magic. Nor had her protectiveness ended with his graduation. She'd been the one that had found what was left of him, and helped piece him back together, after Albus Dumbledore shackled his mind and body to the preservation of Lily Potter nee Evans child and the 'at any cost' defeat of the man formally known as Tom Marvolo Riddle.

His relationship with the Scottish woman was a precious blend of aunt, sister, friend and Devil's Advocate. She held Albus Dumbledore accountable for numerous crimes, most of which the old wizard had committed against the man Minerva perceived to be a nephew, brother, friend and Devil's Advocate.

Never would she forgive Dumbledore for enslaving him.

Severus remembered the night that he'd gone to the man seeking a means to gain absolution and redemption. He crawled away with naught but a shredded soul and utter disillusionment. Albus didn't need to bind him to Lily's child. He would have done it anyway, because the child was Lily's. By taking away his choice, by forcing him to take an Unbreakable Vow, it only bred anger, resentment, and loathing - emotions that thrived to this day - towards a child that didn't deserve such deeply-rooted animosity. The Vow perpetuated the loathing and animosity generated by years of bullying he'd endured at the hands of the boy's father and friends, ensuring that Severus would never be able to forgive or let go of his turbulent childhood, or the guilt that stemmed from a need to belong that, ultimately, Albus Dumbledore had long denied. Yes. It was because of Albus that Severus Snape succumbed to the lure of power and the promise of justice that Voldemort offered. That night of his initiation, he stepped forward and took Voldemort's Dark Mark with the sincere intentions of making sure no one else would have to live through a similar childhood or suffer just because he or she possessed an inclination towards the Darker side of magic.

"Of course, Professor." Even after all these years, Lupin occasionally referred to the Gryffindor matriarch by her title. He brought the topic back to Miss Granger's flight. "As you were saying, Severus?"

Trading one set of macabre thoughts for another, he picked up where he left off before they all got sidetracked by Draco's outburst. "Miss Granger's sudden transformation is also the reason why none of us could sense her."

"Will that happen every time she changes?" Theo's concern was something they all had reason to be uneasy about. No one liked the idea that Granger would be insulated from the Affinity while as an Andalusian or Aethonon.

"I suspect that the reason why none of us, in spite of our mutual Affinity, could sense her was because the poor girl never knew what happened to her."

Minerva was anything but blithe. If anything, the older woman shuddered at what the first moments of the change, and the subsequent eight days, must've been like for the girl.

"Normally it takes years for a witch or wizard to master an Animagus transformation. One of the most difficult aspects of the training is learning how to mate your human mind to the animal your magic selected. Once you've shifted, you move as that animal, you behave as that animal, you respond as that animal." Her voice transitioned from lecture-mode to personal recollection. "I remember the first time I reverted back to my human form with strands of rodent fur jammed between my teeth! To this day, voles repeat on me something awful! Not to mention the mental revulsion I felt as my felineness revelled in the wake of my first kill." She looked at each of them knowingly. "The only thing that counters your animalness is the retention of your human mind.

"For our girl, the change was brought on by extreme emotional and magical distress – isn't that right, Severus?"

"That's correct, Minerva." From everything he'd gleaned from his foray into her mind, 'distress' was a gross understatement.

She pursed her lips as she continued her line of thought. "For her, her whole perspective of, well, _everything_, changed. Also, her shift provided an exceptional means of distancing herself from, well, everything. It wasn't so much as her running away from her problems as it was an extreme means of self-preservation brought on by crisis. By hurting herself, she saved herself from the psychological backlash if she had hurt her parents with her magic. The side effect of being separated from everything she knew as Hermione Granger was as detrimental as it was beneficial.

"Her Animagus form put her into a kind of 'limbo'; neither completely horse nor completely human. I'm not saying that the near constant state of terror or paranoia she experienced won't have too many long-standing effects."

"Like the fact that her Animagus form shifted to that of a magical creature right before our eyes?" Draco had taken his place back next to Theo, but the way he sat at the edge of the settee left no doubt that he'd be on his feet again in no time. The resentfulness he felt over feeling protective of the girl radiated off of the Malfoy heir.

"Hence the caveat about 'long-standing effects', Mister Malfoy." Minerva frowned at his impetuousness. "Her most desperate moment brought about a profound change: horse to Aethonon. But, also, somehow her magic reached out and, quite literally, plucked Mister Nott from where he stood to my front lawn. I'd interpret that to mean that she never truly left us. If she could, even subconsciously, reach out to us, there's every reason to believe that, in the end, all will end well."

"I don't think that was the case."

"Why do you think that, Mister Nott?"

Theo cut his gaze at his Head of House. "Because, Professor, it didn't feel like 'her' who Summoned me."

"Who did it feel like?" Minerva's interest was piqued.

Draco answered for his Housemate. "I felt the pull, too. And Theo's right. I don't think it came from Granger."

"I believe that it was Justin. I'm his match; Pureblood to his Muggleborn, my father to Lucius, his father to Mr. Granger, Gryffindorish Hufflepuff to my Ravenclawish Slytherin, etcetera; separate but equal. He's her other Keeper. He recognized, on some level, that none of us couldn't help her, reach her, or connect with her, because of some reason or another, so he called me to do what he – we – couldn't."

"It makes sense." Lupin looked at the boy, impressed with the reedy lad's sensitivity to the different magical signatures each of them radiated.

"Indeed." Severus intoned. The boy's reasoning was sound. And, more than likely, correct.

"Like I need one more obstacle to overcome." Draco's despondency underscored his barely perceptible murmur, which had everything to do with the recently cast tattoo on his arm and nothing to do with anyone else, besides Severus, who was in the room.

A stretch of overdue silence gave them all a chance to process the multitude of information that had been shared.

Draco's last comment hit a little too close to 'home'. Severus reached across the side table and filched Minerva's unfinished drink. In one go, he tossed back the last few ounces. Setting the glass back down, he pushed himself to his feet. A few long strides had him taking Lupin's place at the window and Lupin, for his part, settled in chair Severus vacated.

"Since we're all here, there's something you all should know."

"What's that, Severus?"

He kept his head turned towards the view her window afforded. Minerva did live in a pretty stretch of country. The rural splendour was a stark contrast to his home in urban Manchester.

"I believe it's time to bring Potter up to speed."

He knew that would cause them to stir. And not in a bad way. They'd been waiting years to do this, always hindered by the boy's devotion to Dumbledore.

"It was while the girl was still in hospital. Dumbledore called Potter to his office. The man had the…_temerity_…to apologize to Potter for 'the mistakes of an old man' in regards to how Potter's life has thus played out."

He could tell Lupin knew something of what had transpired in the Headmaster's office, but not everything.

"Miss Granger isn't the only one who's had difficulty controlling her magic in the wake of emotional distress. Potter _destroyed_ Albus' office." Severus wished he'd been present to witness that. Hearing it second-hand from Phineas Black still managed to put a wicked grin on his face. "He called out the Headmaster on every point, including the death of Sirius Black. It is safe to say that the boy no longer has any faith nor does he believe in the 'nearly-omniscient' Albus Dumbledore."

Minerva didn't like to hear that the boy had been so duly riled, but she didn't conceal her relief at hearing such news.

Draco seemed resigned. The boy hadn't come to terms that he and the Muggleborn were tied-at-the-destiny to be together, let alone the fact that he was, and is, held accountable for his father's mistakes. Theo, for his part, his priorities rested with Granger and Draco.

"There's more." Lupin chimed.

The man leaned forward and braced his forearms against his thighs.

"I had a chance to talk to Harry before the Express left Hogsmeade for Kings Cross. What started out to be a conversation about Sirius segued into how he felt when each of his friends got hurt during the skirmish. When Hermione went down, he said that he felt like he couldn't breathe; that he froze. He didn't feel that way about anyone else." He hastily added, "Not to say that he didn't care. He did. Neville's busted nose, Ginny's broken ankle, the brains that attacked Ron, and the mental anguish Lovegood girl had to have sustained – he felt bad for them, but you should have heard his voice when he was talking about Hermione. It was all I could do not to push him into acknowledging why he felt like he did."

"I almost wish you had, Remus." Minerva intoned. Her hopefulness was contagious. "Perhaps more has happened that we don't know about?"

"We'll endeavour to discover it, Minerva."

"Yes, we will, Severus." She paused, only to redirect the conversation one more time. "I believe there's more?"

Severus scrubbed his face with his hand. His _left_ hand.

His subtle signal was Draco's cue to leave. What he had to say, his godson had already lived through. It would only make the blond boy even more self-conscious when he recounted what had happened that night on the South Lawn of Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Okay - so not a new chapter, per se... But a significantly cleaned-up chapter.

I'm working on the next chapter right now! Wish me luck!

Let me know what you think - please?!


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